Edging Echolls
by cattyk8
Summary: Logan lets Veronica take charge of the bedroom for the day. He doesn't expect her to leave him begging. [Note: Not S4 compliant]


**Edging Echolls**

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SUMMARY: Logan lets Veronica take charge of the bedroom for the day. He doesn't expect her to leave him begging. [Note: _Not_ S4 compliant]

* * *

It never ceases to amaze Logan how different Veronica is from the girl who kicked him out of her life ten years ago. While she is undeniably still feistier than the bobcat he once named her, still smarter than anyone in the whole town of Neptune, and still tinier than a woman who left such a huge hole in his heart and life ought to be, there are changes both glaring and subtle.

Not that he is one to talk; the Navy isn't something anyone would ever have connected with the Logan Echolls of yore.

Still…

Still.

One big change is that she is much more emotionally centered than she was when he knew her before.

Past Veronica Mars was a force to be reckoned with because she knew how to shove her personal issues to the wayside in her dogged pursuit of truth and justice.

Present Veronica Mars is just as dogged, but she's a lot better at dealing with her issues before they can go nuclear and take her personal relationships into fight-or-flight mode.

Present Veronica Mars had learned to compromise.

Another big change is her confidence in the bedroom.

Past Veronica Mars had been the best he'd ever had, but she'd had a sweet shyness to her and for the most part had trusted him to take the lead when it came to their sex life.

Present Veronica Mars takes as much as she gives in the bedroom (and the shower, and the kitchen, and his car, and one great gray morning, the balcony), much to his delight—and often exhaustion. He once boasted that his codeword was endurance, but in the year since their reunion, she's come to test him more times than he cares to admit.

Present Veronica Mars has him helpless and stripped to his boxer briefs, his wrists and ankles tied to the bed posts in knots that would make any sailor proud.

You would think _she_ was the one who'd joined the Navy.

"Why did I agree to this again?"

"Because I asked?"

"Pretty sure I would've needed more persuading than that."

She raises an eyebrow. "Pretty sure you didn't. But just in case, I promised you'd get to see what I was wearing under this."

She trails a hand along the collar of her dark blue button-down. She's wearing one of her meet-the-client outfits: blouse, slacks, boots. She's lost her jacket—the one Logan likes to call her lawyer jacket—but that's the only concession to their less-than-professional atmosphere.

Her hair is still pulled into a neat little bun, her light, natural makeup immaculate. She hasn't let him kiss her since he arrived from the base 20 minutes ago (god, has it only been 20 minutes), so even her lip gloss is unsmeared, leaving her lips dewy and shiny and so, so biteable.

His lips tingle with the need to take, he flexes hands gone sweaty from their emptiness. He wants to grab her and pull her to him.

He sees her eyes drift from his face to his hands. The corners of her mouth twitch upward. He knows she knows how frustrated he is.

She's standing by the side of the bed, but she might as well be across the room for all the good it's doing Logan.

He bites his lip. It's not like he can bite hers, like he wants to.

She smiles.

He's never seen her look so predatory, and he's seen her when she's caught the scent on a case that's both caught her curiosity and offended her sense of what is right and fair in the world.

She has a focus, an intensity, when hunting evildoers. Having all that attention all to himself?

So fucking hot.

He goes from moderately aroused to rock hard in an instant.

Her smile goes feral.

"Down boy," she says, but there's a rough edge to her voice that tells him she's enjoying what she's doing to him while standing three feet away.

"No fair," he grits out.

"What isn't fair, lieutenant?"

Inexplicably, her using his rank just makes him harder. He didn't even know he could _get_ harder.

"I'm next to naked and tied to the bed, and you're fully dressed and too far to reach."

"That does seem an accurate assessment of our situation," she agrees.

He laughs, but there's a disbelieving edge to it. "Why didn't I know you could be a bitch in the bedroom?"

"I don't know. Why didn't you?" She smirks, then slackens her face into a look of exaggerated innocence. "So. Tell me what you _really_ think of me. Seriously. Be completely honest." Her accent is pure 09er, her words are teasing, and she bats her lashes like something out of a 1950s cartoon, but her eyes are serious, a blue as deep and dark as the ocean on a stormy day, and he knows he's treading waters just as treacherous.

He licks his lips. "I told you once that when we first met, I thought you were hot."

She hums a little. "Mmm. In the limo with Lilly. You commented on my knee socks and I called you a perv because I was in my soccer uniform."

"Yes."

"And now?"

"Now you're so hot you could burn me alive." He leers at her for good measure, making her snort in laughter.

"You're such a dork. And also still a perv."

"I'm a dork with a boner that's fast approaching painful."

"Ergo, perv. Still, we can't have that, can we?"

"You're the only one who's fully dressed at the moment. I'll say it again: no fair."

She snorts and points one finger at him like a disapproving school marm giving a student his last warning. He really wishes she would come closer, maybe even get on the damn bed. He'd convert religions for whatever god could make a breeze to push her closer to the goddamn bed.

"Quit your whining, Echolls. I did say I wanted to be in charge of the game today, didn't I?"

"Uh huh."

"I never said I would play _fair_."

His breath hisses out from between parched lips. He wants to kiss the smug look off her face. He wants to get his hands on her leave her gasping so she can't find the breath to snark at him. Instead he watches her helplessly.

She sighs. "I guess I could make a few concessions."

She reaches for the button on her slacks, undoes it. Slowly draws the zipper down. A quick push of fabric from her hips, and her slacks are in a puddle at her feet. He doesn't even know when she took off her boots, but he's too busy giving thanks to care.

"Genuflection" is a word he'd give her, if she wanted one. If he had enough of a brain left after this for words over two syllables.

She's wearing tiny dark green panties with little bow-ties at each of her hips and thigh-high stockings held up by garters with little bow ties at the ends of them.

His erection is so hard he's pretty sure he could use it to drive nails into a two-by-four.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

She grins. "Naw. Just me, Veronica fucking Mars."

He groans, and she lets out a delighted little laugh, and holy fuck it sends an actual shiver down to the base of his spine. His cock twitches under the tent of his boxer briefs.

Her tongue darts out to trace her upper lip. "I guess Little Logan wants to say hi."

"_Please_ don't call it that."

She smirks. "Who's gonna stop me?"

He groans again, and she bares her teeth in what might be a smile on a human but it's like she's a fucking shark and he's chum in the water.

But she has 100 percent of his attention when her hands drift to the first button of her top. She undoes it lazily, holding her shirt closed so he can't see what she's wearing underneath. Then with a quirk of her lips and one swift move, she pulls it off entirely, revealing a dark green corset and bustier.

He stops breathing.

He's pretty sure his heart has stopped too.

"God," he all but wheezes. "Fucking god in heaven."

"Nope," she says, popping the P. "Still just me, fucking Veronica Mars in Neptune, California."

"I fucking hate you."

She traces the top edge of the cup of her bustier. "No you don't."

He moans, fingers itching with the need to replace hers. "No, I don't. I fucking love you."

It takes a moment, but then he realizes what he just said, and he freezes.

But this too, is a big difference.

Past Veronica would have pulled her clothes back on and run out of the room, out of the house—hell, out of Neptune—leaving him tied up and miserable.

Present Veronica only pauses, a vulnerable expression in her eyes that have him thinking maybe someday soon she'll say the words back to him, before she lets the smartass back into her face.

"I know," she says.

He gapes. "I'm naked and spread-eagled here for you to have your way with, and you fucking Han Solo me?"

"I don't know. Is that a lightsaber in those boxers or are you just happy to see me?"

"Princess, you know damn well I'm happy to see you."

She lets out a giggle and climbs onto the bed. Thank fuck.

She stretches out along the side of him in a kind of carelessly boneless movement that makes him think "bobcat" was a really good name for her. She is short enough that her head can rest on his shoulder while the tips of her toes brush at the cloth wound around his ankle, tying him to the bed. She walks her fingers across his ribcage and then down his abs, stopping just below his belly button.

He would swear his cock angles itself toward her touch, almost like it has a mind of its own.

She looks up at him and smiles coyly, then sits up before moving to kneel between his legs, hands on the tops of his thighs, so close to touching him, yet so far.

She purses her lips as she looks down at his tented boxer briefs and for a moment he thinks she's going to pull the briefs down, but instead she grasps him through the polyester-spandex blend material. He groans as she runs a thumb over the tip of him through the cloth, smile turning sharp when she finds it wet with precome.

"Veronica—"

Abruptly she moves her hand down, her grip tight just above his balls, and her head moves down with it. He doesn't have time to speak or breathe or think before her mouth is hot around the tip of his cock, drenching the damp fabric in wet heat.

It is all he can do not to buck up into her mouth, and he groans when he looks down to see her ass up, a laughably tiny strip of fabric teeing between rounded globes.

She takes more of him in and despite the fact that her attention seems completely focused on his groin, she obviously knows exactly what he's looking at because she arches her back just that much, raising her ass into the air just that tiny bit higher.

Even with the cloth of his boxer briefs muting the sensation, he is perilously close to coming.

She eases up, and back, sitting on her heels, her expression studiously bland. The only sign his cock had been in her mouth not a minute ago is the way her lip gloss has smudged.

She smiles. "Let's get you out of these briefs, hmm?"

"Yes, _please_."

Of course, it isn't that simple. He is, after all, tied to the bed by both his wrists and ankles.

She purses her lips, then eases off the bed, sauntering over to the purse she'd dropped on the dresser and making sure to give him an eyeful of stocking-clad legs, bare ass, and corseted torso as she does. She reaches into the bag, pulls out a pocket knife, then makes her way back to the bed.

She flicks the knife open with a frighteningly snappy _snickkkt_ and a twist of her lips that tells him he knows that sound shot electricity straight down his cock his balls. He has a moment to regret getting her that military-grade pocket knife. Then that twist of her lips spreads into that sharklike smile as she pulls the fabric from his inner thigh and slides the knife under it so the metal rests cold on his heated skin. She pushes outward, and the knife cuts through the cloth with the barest of whispers.

She cuts the boxers open all the way to the waistband on one side, and then the other. Her eyes meet his, and as if responding to a silent command, he lifts his hips as she grasps the cloth again, pulling it away from his skin and tossing it over her shoulder with a casual carelessness that belies the way she slowly folds the knife back into the sheathed position until they both hear the click as it slides home.

Then she tosses that too.

Her gaze moves downward, over the planes of his chest and abs to his weeping cock. Freed from its confines, it juts up and back, arcing to point toward his belly. She grasps the top and thumbs the bead of precum at the tip, then brings her thumb to her mouth and sucks.

He moans. "Please, god."

"Please, Veronica," she corrects him.

"Please, Veronica," he repeats obediently.

"Please, Veronica, what, lieutenant?"

"Move—" He remembers he promised she would have total control today. "Whatever you want. Just, _please_..." He groans.

She smirks. "Never thought I'd see Logan Echolls wanting for words."

"Never thought I'd see Veronica Mars teasing the fuck out of my cock."

Her expression turns lethal. "You think this is teasing?"

_Oh. Fuck._

She lays her body over his, his erection straining against the lace and silk of her panties as she reaches over and opens the drawer. She pulls out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, then eases back with them in her hand.

He swallows back a whimper at the hungry look on her face.

But then she smiles and tilts her head.

"Now," she says brightly, "where were we?"

She scoots back down on the bed and takes a moment to just look at him. "It's a beautiful cock," she says, and the casual tone she adopts just _kills _him. "My favorite of all the cocks I've seen."

He growls a little, the neanderthal part of his brain enraged at the idea she's seen more than his.

Intellectually, he knows she's been sexually active since him—hell, he'd seen the sex tape that had her fleeing from Hearst at the end of their freshman year, he'd run into her after she'd lost her virginity to fucking Duncan Kane—but he doesn't like to think about it. Especially when he remembers they'd been apart for nine years.

He doesn't like thinking about those lost nine years. Hates wondering who's helped her build the confidence she now displays. The one that has him hot and hard for her. The one that makes him love Present Veronica all the more.

Her brow furrows as she scans his face. "Hmm. Can't have that."

"Huh?"

"You've got your schmoopy face on. Can't have that."

"I'm man enough to embrace my schmoopiness."

"I know you are, pookie, but there's a time and place for everything. And right now I want your face hungry. _Desperate_, even. And I know just what to do about that."

Without further ado, she angles her body down again, grasps his cock just above the balls in a grip so strong it almost, almost hurts, and takes all of the rest of him into her mouth.

"_Fuck!_" he cries out, pulling against his bonds so they tighten, but she's tied them well enough and used strong enough material that they won't snap.

"Mmm," she agrees. The hum of it with him in her mouth creates a vibration that makes his eyes cross. Then suddenly his cock is rampant in the cool air of the room, wet with a combination of his precome and her saliva. "Don't come."

"Hu-what?"

"You heard me, lieutenant." Her voice is firm, teasing. Her eyes seem to dance. "No coming until I say you can. Think of England or something."

He doesn't have time to answer, his cock engulfed in moist heat once more. In that moment, there is nothing in the world outside the feel of his erection in her mouth. He watches the first time she hollows out her cheeks and _sucks_, then moves his gaze to the ceiling and tries to think of—fuck, anything to stave off the coming orgasm.

His mind scrambles for song lyrics, quotes from long dead writers, the multiplication tables.

And then he feels slicked fingers slipping under him, probing at his entrance. He sucks in a breath as she slips one finger in, thrusting in and out shallowly to let him get accustomed to the feeling.

His toes curl tight enough to nearly break when she adds a second finger, the movements of her hand a counterpoint to what her mouth is doing. Fingers slide in as she pulls up so the tip of him rests just inside her mouth, soft lips on the underside, the tiniest scrape of teeth on top. She opens her mouth and lets her tongue almost curl around the cockhead before flattening down as she takes him all the way to the back of her throat, fingers sliding out to rest just at the rim of muscle, holding him open.

He doesn't want to think about where she lost her gag reflex. God help him, he hopes it wasn't Piz.

She scissors her fingers to hold him open and a third slides in on the next upbeat.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

He _has_ to think about where she lost her gag reflex. And you know, what? Maybe Piz will help him get through this.

Maybe he's finally found a use for Stosh fucking Piznarski.

Black and white dots seem to dance behind his eyelids. He tries to think of Piz's stupid face, but he can't even pull up the image of the guy's floppy faux-Justin Bieber hair. Even when as a boner killer, the guy is useless. In hindsight, later, Logan will be grateful.

Now? He's just trying to keep from shooting his load before Veronica can tell him "go." God, how long until she lets him come?

A harsh whine erupts from his lips, and he feels his balls contract against the base of his cock. He fights to keep his hips still, suddenly grateful the Navy spent so much time training him to stand at attention.

Not moving, not _coming_, now is infinitely harder than any training he's ever suffered through. He grasps his bonds with both hands and squeezes as hard as he can, trying to stave off the inevitable.

A hand cups his testicles and gently pulls. He can't be sure what, but she does something, and suddenly he's not teetering on the verge of orgasmanymore.

In the next moment, her mouth is off his cock, and she slowly eases her fingers out of his back hole. He shudders as she pulls out all the way.

"God," he rasps.

"Nope," she says, her own voice hoarse enough with need that she can't pop the P as she usually would. "Still Veronica."

Inexplicably, he finds enough breath to gasp out a laugh. But it stops in his chest and burns his insides as she draws her body upward, all but slithering as her skin presses against his.

She's taken off the corset.

He feels his cock brush against the insides of her breasts and his breath seizes in this chest.

Her hands travel up his sides while her nipples chart twin trails of heat up his abdomen and rib cage. She presses her palms to his pectorals and pushes herself up into a seated position her panties drenched against his erection, letting out a shuddering breath as she does so.

She smiles at him, and this time it's the sort of smile Past Veronica might have given him once, shy but also kind of proud at how far she's taken him. Then that smile turns mischievous, and _goddamnit_, he knows that look. She draws one hand down to undo the bow tie clasp at her hip.

Then she traces her fingers over her stomach, unclasps the second little bow, and they both groan as she slowly pulls the bit of cloth that might laughingly be called underwear off, their bodies still pressed against each other so it creates a kind of friction that has him thrusting up involuntarily and leaving her quivering atop him.

She reaches for a condom packet, rips open the foil and separates their bodies just enough so she can roll the rubber over him with practiced ease. She presses her mound against his cock and _rubs_, spreading her wetness over him and making him groan.

She rises up just a bit, and slowly, slowly, _fucking finally_, takes him inside her, breath hitching when she bottoms out. She is soaked, her heat clasping around him tightly and making him moan her name. She holds herself still, his erection fully sheathed inside her, tilting her head as she looks down at him.

She holds for a beat.

Two.

Three.

Jesus god, he can feel tears forming in his eyes from sheer frustration. What the fuck is she waiting for?

"Veronica… P-Please…"

"Please what, lieutenant?" she asks, but her breath comes in little gasps, telling him her control is hard-won too, even if it isn't as close to fraying as his.

"Move, god fucking damn it!"

She laughs shakily. The way it quivers in her belly, contracting her inner muscles just the slightest bit, makes him whimper, and then she does as he demands and _moves_.

At first she impales herself on him slowly, moving up and down. Then he can't take it anymore and his hips snap upward in a way that makes them both groan. After that, their pace becomes nearly savage. He does his best to piston up into her despite the bindings on his arms and legs while she seems to all but corkscrew down.

The room is filled with the sounds of flesh against flesh, their own harsh breathing, and a smattering of muttered curses, names stretched out into moans.

Suddenly she props herself up and then lays one hand on his cheek. Wipes at tears he didn't even realize were flowing.

"Are you close, lieutenant?"

His balls are so tight against the drenched heat of her he's sure they're going to explode at any moment. "Y-yes," he stutters out.

She twists her hips in a way that makes him keen. "Then come, Logan." She rises up and plunges herself down on him viciously, and he almost doesn't hear her over the wet slap of their bodies as they move together with a kind of frantic, ecstatic violence. "Come, and take me with you."

He thrusts up into her once, twice, and on the third comes with her name in a roar that starts at his heart and rips its way up through his throat and into the still air around them.

The feel of him coming seems to trigger her own orgasm, and she goes rigid and impossibly wetter and tighter, clenching around him even as she grits her teeth and growls out his name. She arches, suspended in a moment of pleasure he would want to paint and immortalize if only he had the skill, before collapsing onto his chest.

For a while, they just breathe together, gasping gulps of much-needed oxygen at first before calming, although Logan can still feel his pulse trying to hammer its way out of the skin of his neck.

Long moments later, she grumbles and eases off him, dealing with the condom. She reaches for the box of tissues on the bedside table, wipes at his tear- and sweat-drenched face before cleaning up some of the mess further south. She unties his wrists, and he helps her untie his ankles, groaning a bit at the stiffness of his muscles.

He lies back down on the bed and after a moment, she curls into his side.

"Are you all right?"

He snorts. "Now she asks."

She raises herself up on one elbow so she can peer down into his face. He smiles tiredly up into worried blue eyes.

"I'm fine, bobcat. That was just… intense."

"Yeah, well, I'm an intense kind of person."

"Really. I hadn't noticed that about you at all."

She pokes him in the side, but he's too tired to squirm.

"Promise me one thing, though?"

"Hmm?" She yawns, kittenlike, and curls into him just a tiny bit more.

He smiles and tightens an arm around her. Cuddles might not be the best part, but they come damn close. "We're absolutely doing that again."

"Are we?"

"Hell yes."

"Mmkay."

"Where the fuck did you learn to do that, anyway?" He hates that he can hear the jealousy in his voice.

She's silent for a long moment, long enough so he twists just a bit so he can get a look at her face. She's blushing. "Um. I learned it from you."

He scowled. "We've never done _that _before."

"I mean, you used to make me come like it was an Olympic sport." She huffs out a laugh. "You still do. I just thought I'd return the favor, with a few tweaks."

"Them's some tweaks, bobcat."

"You like?"

"What do you think?"

A pause. Then, softly, carefully, "I think I might love you."

Everything inside him just loosens for half a second, and then he's all but choking on the tight clutch of emotions in his chest.

"I—" He gives breathing a try. "I know."

She sits up abruptly. Stares at him wide eyed. Then punches him hard in the shoulder, making him grunt. "You're a jackass, Logan Echolls."

He lets out a chuckle. "I'm your jackass, though."

Her face softens and she snuggles back against him. "Well," she says. "There's that, I suppose."

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This is my first ever smutty fanfic, and I'm not sure if I had fun writing it because it's fun or because it's so terrible I've come through and out the other side of awful and am just hysterical at this point. Feedback (especially on points to improve upon) would be very welcome as I'm thinking I might have another go at smut fic… eventually? For now, there is this.

I initially wrote this for VMHQ's 2000 Followers - Last Chance Fic Fix Challenge, but realized it wasn't a fix-it fic, so decided to sit on it and maybe roll it out for Smutathon. Since there are no announcements about Smutathon at the moment, and everybody's at such a low point in the fandom after the S4 drop—I haven't seen it yet, but have been spoiled, so hugs for everyone who needs one—I have decided to post this. Because maybe some people need smut rather than hugs. Also LiteraLi said to post it, because "we need more fic right now" and if this helps at all, then I will be happy regardless of my nerves.

Genuflection and thanks to the goddess that is Marshmellow Bobcat for having a look at this fic and suggesting changes to make things better and also to another goddess, Irma66, for some grammar fixes. Seriously, check out their fics cause their stuff is awesome and will make you believe in LoVe again.


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